Whispers among the dead
by Alice Mist
Summary: Whispers stir around a beautiful murder. Following only these muffled sounds, Sherlock must find the culprit behind the blood drained, face painted, well dressed body found in the park. However when time goes on the deaths begin spread like blood, creeping closer, too close. Can he decipher the whispered evidence before it's too late?
1. Chapter 1

It was a beautiful day in England. To be more accurate it was a beautiful day in St. James Park. The chills of March had begun to warm up and the air was clean and clear. The ground was brightly colored with the bright yellow of daffodils. Sun shown brightly on the dew covered grass. Yes, a beautiful day it was to be at St. James Park.

Janie Brown was out for a stroll, holding a notebook to write about the beautiful things that she might encounter on this walk. However this is little to no importance for this story. And it would be best wise to forget such pointless information. For this is not about Janie Brown. No, not what this is about at all. This is about what she found when she went on her daily walk to St. James Park.

She was leaning on a rail looking out across the water. A mist stayed on the water for it was early morning. The sun was lightly touching the water. Janie wrote something down her notebook. Mostly about how she felt as she listened to the water hitting the shore line. Purely just emotions that would not be considered worth anything that mattered that day. After a good while she left into a more deserted area of the park where there was no rails to stop her from seeing its beauty.

She stared at the water; however not close enough to see anything that she might have needed to see. She was only hoping that she could write idea of pure brilliance.

After having no such idea she walked a little farther into the turned around she closed her eyes and laid back in the grass, letting the cool feeling of dew touch her skin. She laid there listening. Waiting for something to hit her. Something that she could use for a book.

It was then she heard something different from the slow moving water. Almost like water hitting hollow wood. She stopped thinking about her writing for a split second debating if this was worth while. She sat there listening. Since it was unlikely that it had any importance she laid back down. It was then she heard the scraping against rock. Instantly she sat back up as if this had changed everything. She waited patiently until she heard yet something else. Almost as a hum of a whisper. A chilling whisper.

Slowly she stood up, leaving her notebook behind her. She looked at the water for another moment. There was a difference from where she originally stood. A white reflection that shone dimly on the water.

Her eyes widen, unsure what to believe of this weird flickering in the water. Janie glanced the entire direction, wondering if anyone else saw what she was seeing. Realizing that she was completely alone in the park besides an odd woman feeding pigeons, she came to the conclusion that she had to find out for herself.

For the first time in for what seemed weeks, Janie Brown felt a strange pulling to the white flicker. She could not decide if she feared it or if she was curious. Slowly as she could, she made her way to the edge of the lake; making sure that she stepped softly in the grass. She did not want to scare off anything or anyone who was creating the reflection and the whispers.

When she made her way so that she was standing on the edge she saw what looked like a wooden canoe painted white. It lay still in the water. Something in Janie's gut told her to call the police. The whispers were not calling her for help, but were calling her to come closer.

Janie walked slowly towards the canoe, her hands trembling with uncertainty. When she got close enough, she called out.

"'Ello, is anyone there?"

There was only the sound of whispers. This caused a shiver go down Janie's spin. It was strange. Why were there whispers, but no response as she called out? She finally got to a spot where she could peer into the white boat.

**She let out a scream, which scared away the pigeons and caused the odd woman to run towards Janie. Yes it was a wonderful day in England. At least a wonderful day for a certain man who lived on 221 B Baker Street.**


	2. Chapter 2

John Watson had woke on this particular morning a very happy individual. He had managed to get enough sleep, which was a rare thing. This however led him to a certain regret. This meant that his flatmate would be overly moody, being that he had nothing to do.

By the time that John Watson finished dressing he could hear the banging of a gun. With a well needed sigh he looked at himself in the mirror.

"About time," he muttered to himself. He waited for a minute or two before he decided that the pause of bullets hitting the flat wall was a sign that his ' enjoyable' flatmate was out of bullets. With a sad smile that expressed the displeasure of finding out if his flat mate had ran out of bullets for good or was getting more John Watson walked out of his room and down his stairs.

He had almost stepped into the living room when he spotted a cup on the floor. He bent forward to grab it, and good timing too. For the instant that his fingers touched the cup there was a loud thump. John looked at the wall and gave a heavy sigh. Right where his head would have been if he had not thought about cleaning was a very interesting looking dagger.

"Ah, John I didn't see you there," a familiar deep voice said beside him.

He glanced towards Sherlock. Sherlock was still dressed in his pajamas which was much relief to John. One time he was bored he wore nothing but bed sheets. He was wearing his silk robe with two other throwing knives in his hands. John wasn't too sure if throwing knives were even legal in England. However he was sure that half of the things that Sherlock did was illegal so there was little point of bringing this up to him.

Thinking that Sherlock was done chucking knives, John had made the mistake of standing up. He was about to say something along the lines of going out on a date with some woman that isn't truly of importance when Sherlock chucked another knife half of an inch from his head.

"Sherlock would you mind not trying to kill me, this early in the morning?" John asked keeping completely calm like he always was.

"Would you mind moving, your head is right in front of my target." Sherlock said sounding completely bothered that John would complain about such little things.

Watson walked away from the wall and towards the kitchen, stopping for a moment when he saw a leg laying on the table. Well at least he thought it was a leg. Most of the tissue was removed and sat nicely in the trashcan. Leaving most of the muscles and bone showing. John decided it was best not look at it too long and turned away.

"You asked Molly for a leg?" John asked as he placed a cup in the sink.

"No, Molly was being unreasonable yesterday. I had to borrow it from the lab." Sherlock said and there was another thump from another blade hitting the wall. A tad bit harder than the first few throws.

"Borrow," John said quietly laughing to himself. Molly rarely said no unless she was dating. John was used to this and use to the small bit of anger that he had to get his "items" himself.

John decided that he should get something from the fridge. However when he opened it to see yet another head in the fridge he decided against it. With a shut of the fridge door Sherlock responded, "experimenting on how fast the brain dissolve with chemicals introduced to it."

John shivered and walked into the living room, " Only you would think up such a thing."

Sherlock tossed another throwing knife. This time it echoed through the flat. It was just loud enough to attract the attention of the land lady.

"Mr. Holmes! Are you destroying my walls again?" yelled out Ms. Hudson.

Sherlock rolled his eyes and looked at Ms. Hudson who had walked up the stairs. Ms. Hudson could not be angry at Sherlock very often. She in her own way viewed him as a son. However she tried to keep reminding him that she was his landlady, not his housekeeper. Sherlock had his hand gun now back in hand and had it pointed at the wall.

Ms. Hudson grew slightly pink and responded by, "Mr. Holmes, you know very well that I hid that gun from you!"

Sherlock gave a side glance and smiled at her, "Ms. Hudson, putting a gun in a safe isn't hiding it, it's putting it in a box which might as well be made of cardboard. It is obvious that the code for the combination is 12-30-1 ."

Ms. Hudson grew red and a frown was set on her face.

"Sherlock , only you would suggest that," John said sipping a glass of water that he had gotten.

Sherlock gave a wicked grin and shot the wall again. Ms. Hudson seemed even angrier than normal and glared at Sherlock.

"This will be coming out of your rent!" she snapped as she stormed down the stairs.

John watched as Sherlock tossed the gun to the corner of the room. It clanked roughly on the side of the wall. Sherlock did not care at the moment and jumped onto the couch and let himself fall into it. He glared at wall and laid his head back to look at the window.

"I am so bored. Why doesn't somebody kill someone? It has been two weeks and not a single murder." Sherlock complained.

"I know isn't it great people are learning to get along." John said with a smile, knowing too well that was not what Sherlock meant.

Sherlock glared at him, "Maybe for simple minded people who wish for everything to be jolly, however the truth is that people will never get along. The reason why no one has been murdered is because someone is planning, John. Murders will again start happening."

"You know, this can't be healthy," John said sitting on the opposite chair.

"I know John, I know," Sherlock said, putting his hands together and placing them under his chin.

John waited patiently until Sherlock responded, knowing that it was best not to interrupt him while he was thinking. John, deciding that it was best to plan ahead, took out his phone and contacted the woman who he was going to date that night.

"Are you busy tonight?" Sherlock asked opening his eyes and glancing in John's direction.

"Yes, Lynda and I are going out for dinner," John said slowly trying to pay attention to what he was typing in.

"She's married," Sherlock said with a sigh.

John looked up at Sherlock, a look of shock across his face.

"What do you... never mind. How did you come to that conclusion?" John asked.

Sherlock looked at his friend with a confused look.

"You know, this can't be healthy, not knowing what your partners real lives are. It must be horrible," Sherlock said, looking back out the window.

John sighed, every time that he had ever thought about going on a date it would be ruined by Sherlock. Even though most of the time they were doomed to fail in the first place, John tried to remind himself never to mention if he was going on a date with anyone.

"How did you know?" John asked.

"I was borrowing some money from your wallet when I came across a photo of Lynda. Interesting photo I might say. Her left hand ring finger has a white pale strip of skin and a slight indent. If she was recently divorced it would have just the tan line. However there is a circular indent showing that she is indeed married. Her finger is too big for the ring, but won't get it resized. She won't leave her husband, he is too wealthy by the look of her clothing and the diamond earrings. Get out of it, she is using you." Sherlock said, not even glancing back at John.

"How much did you borrow?" John asked as he opened his wallet.

"It doesn't matter, you would have spent that much money on that date anyway." Sherlock said moving slightly to look at John.

John noticed that his wallet was completely empty.

"Sherlock, what in the world did you do with 250 pounds?" John asked a little angered.

"John, how else am I going to buy chemicals and bullets?"

"250 pounds! You stole 250 pounds so that you could shoot at a wall and have another head in the refrigerator!" John said, a little more angry.

Sherlock looked at John with a confused look. What was John's problem? He should be used to this by now.

"How am I going to get through this month?" John muttered as he looked at Sherlock.

"Easy, you solve this case with me," Sherlock said, looking out of the window.

John shook his head, "What, are you going to kill somebody?" John asked.

"No, the person waiting finally snapped," Sherlock said, walking in the direction of his room.

"Why do you say that?" John asked as Sherlock disappeared.

"Easy, John, Detective Inspector Lestrade doesn't just go to 221 B Baker St. because he can. He comes here because he is desperate."

The door slammed behind Sherlock, leaving John standing in the living room. It was then that John heard the knocking on the door. John walked down the stairs and made his way towards the door. Opening it, he saw a man whose hair was beginning to gray slightly. He wore the same look that he always did. Something between a smile and no emotion at all.

"Good morning detective inspector, where has the murder been?" John asked.

"St. James Park."

"We take it, we'll be right there." John responded and was about to shut the door when the inspector stopped him.

"That's it? You don't want to know anything about it?"The inspector asked.

"Trust me,Sherlock would do anything to get out the house." John said with a sad smile on his face. He generally gave a lot of sad smiles.

The inspector raised his shoulders and gave a sigh. "Hopefully he understands what is going on."

John nodded and shut the door. He let himself lean against it and looked at the ceiling as if to beg it to be an abnormal day. It was then Sherlock came downstairs dressed in his coat and a blue scarf. He looked like he did every day. Ready for an adventure. He stopped for a moment and looked down at John who was in the way of the door.

"John, get up. We got to get to the crime scene," he said.

There was a second pause and John jumped up and walked outside with Sherlock following. Before entering the cab, Sherlock took a deep breath of the spring air.

"Ah, yes, a perfect day for a murder."


	3. Chapter 3

"You have got to be joking," Anderson said very loudly as he saw Sherlock, Greg Lestrade, and John Watson walking towards him.

Anderson would be best compared to a rat. His black hair was awkwardly parted over his pale forehead and his small, beady eyes were very much glaring at Sherlock. His voice was at a odd pitch that made his sound like he always had a cold. However if one was to get beyond the annoying sound of his voice they would hear his words and realize that he is over educated... in pointless knowledge and often got everything he said wrong. His people skill were more atrocious than Sherlock Holmes. In short, he was the most annoying person anyone could meet.

"We don't need you," he spat, his voice coming out as an annoying snarl.

"Really? because I have heard otherwise." Sherlock passing Anderson and a smirk came to his face again. "Another night with Sally I see."

Anderson glared at Sherlock, but knowing that Sherlock would make him even more of a fool than he already was, quitted himself to only murmurs and stormed off to the corner of the crime scene.

"Start talking," Sherlock said.

"Janie Brown, a high school student, found a woman's body this morning. That's all that we got beside the obvious," he said as the made their way to the edge of the lake.

Sherlock could hear the light sounds of whispers getting louder as he made his way towards the direction of the body. It was a haunting melody. It sounded almost like someone was screaming and crying for help. However it came out as nonsense and kept repeating itself over and over again. John, not as quick as Sherlock, didn't catch on until they were a few feet away.

"Does anyone else hear that noise?" John stopped abruptly when he got a full view of the body.

The woman was dressed in white and laying in a small white boat. Red cloth surrounded her body. Her face was covered in makeup and her long brown hair was moving in such a way that it seemed to be floating. She held in her hands a single rose with a silver thread wrapped around it. Her eyes were closed and she was dressed as though she would have been one of the most beautiful woman in the world. No sign of bruising around the wrist; there was nothing. The the strange whispers were indeed coming from her mouth. Then there was the clear thing about her, she was paler than Anderson. Much paler.

"Leave us,"Sherlock said as he stepped closer to the body. He reached out and touched her face. John watched as the detective inspector left, muttering something along the lines of how this didn't make sense at all.

John didn't say anything, knowing that his comments at the moment would not be the best, being that he had very few. Sherlock lightly rubbed his index finger on her skin. He looked closer and saw that there was a smudge. Make up stuck to his fingers, a little too much made her look older and her ears, neck, and face were completely covered. Her cheeks were covered with rouge, and her lips were well caked with lipstick.

"John, tell me what you are thinking," Sherlock demanded.

"Um, the murder is one for the theater." John said.

"Besides the obvious, John, what is wrong with this picture?" Sherlock asked a slight sound of annoyance in his voice.

John looked at the woman for another second. His eyes squinted, and he focused on her face.

"Her make up," he responded after a few moments of thought, "is quite a bit extreme."

"Exactly, a professional would be more careful about the makeup. This is theater makeup, however the makeup made her look older than she is. They placed a little too much on for a professional, which is why that the makeup caked on my finger. However the killer did know to cover the neck, ears, and face completely, meaning that they had schooling in theater makeup. There are no bruises on her wrist showing that she may have been drugged when she died or perhaps she was poisoned. However the murder drained all of her blood, why?" Sherlock asked himself, not truly wanting John's opinion.

"He could be a vampire," John said, pretty much just to talk to himself , "Well that makes sense, now doesn't it, no it doesn't. I don't understand at all."

"Not a vampire John. The person who did this did not want their victims to be changed. This could mean that our suspect works at a funeral or used to at some point." Sherlock stopped to sniff the body. "Yes, the killer cleaned the body with the disinfectant that is often used for preparing for a funeral."

Sherlock reached out and pulled the woman's lips from each other. A thin line of string attached to the jaw. John was standing next to Sherlock and looked at the body. John glanced at mouth.

"You're right," John said.

"John I am always right. You should know this by now." Sherlock said, getting away from the body. He walked away from it and John followed like he always did.

"However that doesn't make sense," John stated as he followed along, "People murder people because they despise them. Why would a person prepare someone like this?"

"That is why they put me on the job John, because..." Sherlock began.

"You're brilliant," John said softly.

Sherlock turned around to face John. A real smile on his face.

"Exactly," Sherlock said and then spun around to face the inspector and lost the smile.

"Take the body to St. Bart's, I will be examining it there." Sherlock said and walked past the inspector.

John followed behind and they were a good distance from the inspector.

"So did you find anything?" he yelled behind them.

Of course they did not respond. Just leaving the inspector questioning himself and wondering why he put up with a man like Sherlock Holmes. The inspector was too distracted by the fact that Sherlock Holmes had left him with nothing to go on, to notice that Anderson had came up behind him.

"Good riddance," Anderson spat.

"Shut up Anderson."


	4. Chapter 4

Today was an abnormal day to say none the least. A very abnormal day for a woman known as Dr. Molly Hooper. For once in her life she was not begged, insulted, manipulated, nor any other extremes that Sherlock Holmes had dreamt up every day, besides today apparently. Molly had been able to go to bed at an abnormal time, 8 p.m., and had managed to take care of her cat Toby without any arrived to work on time without running around like chicken with it's head cut off and had become friends with someone new from Bart's, who happened to live right next door. Making friends was a rare idea that Molly had not often dealt with. However the 26 year old American girl was so glad of Molly's company that she insisted on having lunch with her that day. Molly, who often ate every meal alone, was happy that she was finally noticed. There was a nagging thought in the back of Molly's mind about what could go wrong with this abnormal day.

Molly was typing away at the moment. Even the bodies today where abnormal from everything else. No one was chopped up, cut up, or even missing a limb. The only thing missing from one of the bodies was a single tooth from an older man. Of course he had gotten his tooth removed and it showed on the dental records. Nothing extremely interesting, nothing was interesting at all. This was a peaceful day. Which again could not have been any more odd.

Molly sighed as the information on the body was finished. She could not help but reflect on how peaceful the man had looked as he died in his sleep. As if death was an old friend that he was afraid would never show. According to the records his wife had died a year earlier. She'd died at peace as well. Molly could only imagine how much love there was in their relationship. This wasn't like Molly on most days. Normally she would wish to have a challenge. But today was an abnormal day and Molly could not help but feel at peace.

She glanced at a clock. It was only a few more minutes until she was going out to lunch. She let out a sigh and closed her eyes.

"Wake up, Molly, there is work to be done." A voice said as the doors swung open and footsteps where heard entering the room.

If Molly hadn't been leaning on her chair she would be on the floor at this moment. Her eyes were wide as she looked at the men who entered the room. This perfectly abnormal day had turned itself into a normal day within half a second.

Sherlock was already grabbing items that he may need to test how the victim was murdered. John stood awkwardly in the corner trying to figure out what he needed to do with himself. John ended up watching Molly, whose behavior seemed odd to him.

"How have you been, Molly?" John asked as he realized that his flat mate had not spoken to Molly in a few minutes.

"Oh, great. yourself?" Molly responded, surprised that he had asked.

"Brilliant," John said and then looked at the floor as if it was where the answers to life where held. "Just, brilliant."

Molly glanced at the clock. "I'm late," she said as she began to exit the lab.

"Well, hope you both find what you are looking for!" she said, hand about to touch the door handle.

"And where do you think you are going?"Sherlock saying as he placed a pound of items on the table.

"Sher-Sherlock I am going out for lunch." Molly said, stammering, getting ready to head out the door.

"Nonsense, you can eat in here." Sherlock said as he began to dig through other items. No one quite knew what he was digging through. At the time it seemed of little importance. Besides, he was bound to tell them at the end of his experimentations.

John was a little to distracted by the fact that Molly had to go out for lunch. She never went out for lunch. Most of the time it was cafeteria food, which would never be considered going out for lunch. Meaning that Molly had a date.

"Sherlock, I think she is going on a date," John said, smiling to himself.

Sherlock glanced up at that. Then looked at Molly for a long awkward moment before returning to his work.

"Friend," Sherlock said as he began to dig around again, "Sit down, your friend will understand."

"Oh, you don't really need me." Molly said as she opened the door.

"Sit down, Molly." Sherlock ordered.

Molly gave a deep sigh. This wasn't what normally happened. No, normally she would have done what he had asked right away. However for once she wanted to have her abnormal day stay that way. Dreams however do not come true. She turned around and stood next to John.

"Sherlock,do we really need to have Molly here? She shouldn't keep her friend waiting," John said, looking over his Sherlock's shoulder.

"I need to take a look at that body, John," Sherlock said, continuing to sort out the things on the table.

"Body?" Molly asked, her face scrunching up with confusion.

"A young woman murdered in St. James Park. Completely drained of all body liquids,reeks of disinfections..." Sherlock began.

"That sounds like every single dead body in the morgue." Molly responded.

"Yes, but that was how she was murdered ? She was went through the proper form of treatment for a dead body. The question is why would a murderer take all this time cleaning the body and taking care of it."

Molly was about to say something, when in rushed a 26 year old American. She walked in her face red clear sign that she had been running and her hair a complete mess. Her bright blue eyes were caught on Molly.

"Molls, sorry I am late," she said sliding what looked satchel on to the table. She had her dark brown hair pulled back in a high ponytail. Sherlock looked up from what he was doing for a second to see who had in fact entered the room.

She wore black and blue Nike shoes. They were used clearly showing that she was a runner. They way that she held herself seemed more interested about jogging than talking about men at work. No polish on the nails, no make up, not even the faint smell of perfume. She wore a plain T shirt along with the lab coat. It was clear that she was independent . Most likely dealt with men once in her life and then decided that she never wanted to deal with them again at least until she found someone decent. Cross necklace small, not extremely visible, but it is there. Religious.

Sherlock brought his head down to look over his work. No longer concerning himself with what was going on with Molly's new friend.

"It's alright, I can't leave any way," Molly said with a shrug.

"Why not?" she asked digging through her satchel.

There was a ring of a phone causing Clare and Molly to look at seemed not to noticed, until he finally took it out of his pocket. Only God knows why he kept the pink phone, however he has kept it with him since the introduction of Moriarty. He looked at it for a short while and then he glanced up to look back at his work.

"You can leave, Molly. The body will not be in for another 40 minutes. Anderson is trying to prove a point."Sherlock said with his eyes squinting as he mentioned Anderson.

Silently the two girls left the room. John however watched as they exited the room wanting some sort of explanation.

* * *

A review would be nice at some time. Personally I would love to know how you think. I don't own Sherlock, if I did, well no one in their right mind would watch it and it would be... Dull. Next chapter up in a few hours.


	5. Chapter 5

It had been almost 30 minutes since the girls had left for lunch. Sherlock was as busy as ever doing whatever Sherlock does, leaving John to watch. John's mind traveled a while, debating on what was the meaning behind Sherlock's behavior. He should have noted that Sherlock's behavior was always of questioning matters and questioning his behavior would lead to nothing but more questions. John, however, was stuck on a question that Sherlock had stated half an hour ago.

"What is Anderson trying to prove?" John asked looking over what Sherlock had on the table.

"That the recording was a tip-off about the murder," Sherlock began as he moved other objects into an odd order.

John squinted at the man in front of of him. The recording obviously had something to do with the murderer.

"What do you mean, Sherlock?" John asked as he sat down at a stole.

"Think, the man who did this has spent a great deal of time cleaning up the body. There will be no evidence of murderer. He left it there for some other reason. I will not know for sure until we have taken out the record. But I can say one thing, the killer made sure that he was not linked to the murder." Sherlock said, finally getting up. " Hurry John, the body has arrived."

Sherlock got up and began to walk out, John following behind just as confused as he was when he entered the room.

"How did you know that Molly was on a date with a friend and not a boyfriend?" John asked.

Sherlock rolled his eyes as he glanced at his friend. "Don't waste your time John. There are much more important things than who is dating who."

John tried to keep up with Sherlock's long strides down the hallway. His mind wandered back to this morning at 211 B Baker street.

"Then why were you angry this morning?" John asked.

"What do you mean, angry?" Sherlock responded, walking into the another room.

"You were talking about how Molly had been unreasonable last night," John began as he followed Sherlock in. "Normally she's unreasonable when she is dating."

"John,shut up."

"Sherlock, we're in the middle of a conversation."

"Well then change the conversation into something useful."

John heaved a sigh. They entered the room and looked to see the body on the examination table. The woman was covered in a sheet and Molly stood in a corner taking out a scalpel and other sharp objects that were needed . Sherlock could clearly see how stiff Molly had became as she stood near the body. The whispers echoed the room, making it feel smaller than it was.

Lestrade and Clare stood in silence waiting for them to arrive. The had not even noticed that Molly was wondering about what were the best things to use.

"Who is she?" Sherlock asked as he made his way towards the body.

"Jessica Lensman, 20 years old. Born in New York, however moved over to France when she was 8. She had a part time job working in art gallery. According to the web she was going to see a friend that she had meet online. Parents died 4 years ago, car crash. Has no other family members." Lestrad reported.

"The killer left the information under the red blanket, didn't he?" Sherlock said, moving his attention back to the body.

" You keep saying he, what makes you think that?" John asked.

"Saying they would become annoying." Sherlock said, and after a pause added, "There is also some information that would suggest that the killer is male."

John, not quite sure if he should take Sherlock's information as fact, decided that it would be best if he asked.

Molly grabbed a pair of small scissors and walked towards the victim. She pulled the sheet away from the victim's face. With a gloved hand she pried the lips apart to see the string, and carefully snipped it. The mouth hung open, letting the sounds become louder. Cautiously she put her hand into the dead woman's mouth and touched the recorder. She reached lower, testing if there was more of the recorder that she could not feel. However it felt round and didn't have any strings linked to it.

Slowly she pulled the recorder out. It was a fairly large. Molly dropped the recorder into Sherlock's gloved hand.

"Thank you," Sherlock said and then looked at Lestrade. "Who is the friend?"

"Mary Morstan, who was a private tutor, currently out of work. She has no family in England. Mother had died a few days after her birth and her father had disappeared a while back... Good grief the murderer knows everything. " Lestrade said, slowly reading a list.

"Lestrade check the sources, Molly contact me if anything interesting pops up, and John..." Sherlock turned around as dramatic as casual could get. "come with me."

John followed Sherlock and he disappeared along with the strange man. Lestrade turned to Molly who was working away at the body.

"Dr. Hooper, you know that you gave Mr. Holmes evidence from a crime site." Lestrade said as he watched Molly.

"Humm?Oh sorry about that," Molly said walking to a fridge.

"Dr. Hooper, that's a crime."

Molly Hooper was not paying much attention because she opened a fridge to expect to see a human leg. However it was completely empty. Molly didn't have to ask where the leg had went. Since Sherlock had asked for a leg the night before.

"I needed that leg," she muttered, shutting the fridge.

"Dr. Hooper."

"Mr. Lestrade, you have to face the facts. I give him what he wants or he takes what he wants. Trust me, he would have had that recording even if I gave it to you." Molly Hooper said, writing information about the body down in a notebook.

* * *

Talk to me. I am bored out of my mind. This book was prewritten, so I wrote it to match the books and the TV show. I didn't watch the third season until after I had finished the book.


	6. Chapter 6

"Excuse me, you want me to do what?" John asked, setting down his cup of tea.

"You heard me," Sherlock said holding the recording in his hands.

"You want me to go on a date with a possible murderess?" John stated, making sure that he had gotten the words right.

"You did hear me."

As he brought his attention back to the recorder, John stared at Sherlock, dumbfounded. John had a way to have dates end up being a disaster because of Sherlock's cases, but never in his time living at 221 B Baker Street had he ever been asked to date someone. Not even someone, but a probable murderer. To be completely honest, this was the most absurd thing Sherlock had asked of him.

"You do know she could be the _killer_."

"Precisely," said Sherlock, pronouncing each syllable. "I do not understand why you are not happy about going on this date, John. It might be the most on edge date that you have ever been on. Isn't that why people date, so they can have excitement?"

"I'd rather have a lifetime of boring dates, than to have a single exciting one."

"Oh please John, you want this, I know you."

"You're kidding, right?" John asked, looking at Sherlock. There was an awkward pause before he added, "Of course not. You have no sense of humor."

"I wouldn't go that far."

"All my dates end poorly." John sighed as he leaned himself back in his chair.

"Why would you say that?" He clearly did not want to know about what what makes John's bad dates, however Sherlock need to hear someone talk. It was one of those days that a distraction from work was good. These moments were few, but he had to distract John long enough for Mary Morstan to knock on the door.

Sherlock had set up an account on a dating website for John. He made sure to delete it after he had arranged for Mary to meet him. Mary, being single and having too much time on the internet, immediately said yes to the date. Sherlock didn't see Mary being a desperate woman. Like most women in London, she knew very well who Dr. John Watson was.

He would not tell John this. After all, he knew too well that the blogger would react poorly.

"I don't know, maybe girls don't like to be deconstructed or have near death experiences?"

"Now you don't have to worry about that now, do you?" Sherlock said as he pressed the play button on the recorder.

Pain-filled cries for help echoed around the room in mysterious whispers, too slurred to understand what really needed to be said. It was clear, however, that there was a woman crying at one bit, but it almost didn't appear to be pleading.

"Why's that?"

"Because she would be expecting near death experiences already if she is the murderess. If she was the murderess there wouldn't be time for a second date, would there?"

"You will be watching in case she is the murderess."

"Nope," Sherlock made sure he popped the p as he made his way to the door.

"Why not?"

"I have to go to Bart's immediately."

"Really? We are going to Bart's at this time in the night?" John asked, incredulous.

"Wrong again, _I_ am going to Bart's. You are going on a date." Sherlock continued down the stairs even as he spoke

"What, that is not possible. I have not even scheduled a date!" John nearly yelled.

"Of course you didn't, I did." The door closed leaving a confused John Watson standing on the staircase.

"Sherlock got me a date," John muttered softly, "I have never seen him so bored."

John was about to enter the flat again when there was a knock on the door. Taking in the most amount of courage he could, he walked down the stairs. He didn't understand how he managed to bring himself to open the door, but he did in the end. In front of him was a woman with short pale blond hair, light brown eyes and an alarming blood orange coat. John couldn't help but feel this odd attraction towards the woman. Her face was friendly and her smile had warmth that John rarely felt. John might have thought at that moment that he sensed the instant connection that one may feel when meeting their life partner. Even with a kind voice he heard the words that would make him feel otherwise.

"Hello, I am Mary." She said with a sweet smile.

John could have died at that moment, at least if Sherlock would have allowed it. Of course she was Mary. Of course she was attractive. Of course she was the murderess. Of course he did not display any of his regret, instead he was the proper gentleman that he thought himself to be.

"Of course you are," John muttered to himself, low enough that she could not hear him.

"Excuse me, what did you say?" she asked, scrunching up her face, which John found slightly adorable. _She's a killer..._

"Would you like to come in?" John asked, remembering his manners.

She nodded and she entered. John stared outside the door for half the second, regretting ever opening it in the first place.


	7. Chapter 7

Print

-Bart's-

Sherlock entered the room, his coat bellowing behind him. The first thing he saw was Molly working away at small glass cylinder filled with what appeared to be nothing. However that was clearly not the case.

"Every bit of the body showed up clean besides the teeth. There was plack on the upper third molar. A spot clearly missed." She placed the cylinder down.

Sherlock came closer and sat down, looking at the cylinder.

"Any other information?"

There was a loud thud as Molly placed the large folder of documents down next to him. He glanced towards the folder.

"Lestrade gave you the documents on the cases?" Sherlock asked, giving Molly a side glance.

"No, I am just the messenger." She brought a plastic bag to him containing 5 long brown bits of hair in it. Undoubtedly Jessica's hair. She dropped it down atop the folder. Sherlock set himself back to work, reading through the information and deciding if the facts were worth his time. It only took a few seconds before he ended up talking aloud. He was in no way trying to get Molly's opinion, but John wasn't there so she would have to do.

"The man is gay, the puncture wound is in the back of the neck, the nails were cleaned and manicured; there is much respect towards the body. However, he could very well be asexual. The red rose that was in her hand is most likely symbolic. An affair not likely as she spent most of her time alone. She was looking for a significant other online, and by the look of her inbox she didn't have any lovers at the time. The man has a very emotional bond." Sherlock continued ranting.

He glanced up to see Molly with two mugs of coffee in her hands. She set one down and made her way towards her workspace. He took a sip and his face scrunched up as it always did when Molly made coffee. Bart's wasn't known for the best coffee, but it would have to do. He set the mug down and brought the work back into focus.

"Formaldehyde and methanol were found in the body. He worked at the morgue for some time, most likely fired after a few years. The girls probably died in their sleep, being that most poisons are denser than oxygen. There is a possibility that she drank the poison. It appears that I may have to talk to John's date."

Molly, who had managed to remain perfectly silent the whole time, noticed that John was not with him. She hadn't been paying attention to what he'd been saying.

"Where is John?" Molly asked as she looked around.

"On a date with Mary Morstan," Sherlock said, slightly annoyed.

"Oh, isn't she the woman who was named in the paper?"

"Yes."

"You left John with a woman who could be the murderess?"

"No," he said this looking at Molly straight on, causing her to blush deeply. "I have been saying all day that the murderer is a man. Why don't people understand? I have never called the woman the murderess. It wouldn't be logical. Mary has no experience with chemicals nor worked at the morgue. She's a nanny, meaning that she doesn't get paid a comfortable wage to get toxic poisons on the black market."

"Why did you make John go on a date then?"

"Easy, I ruined his last date and he will be an inside source on the case."

The night quickly set in around London. No time appeared to have passed where they worked. Sherlock talked to himself about the case and Molly fetched more coffee once he had ran out. He was so caught up into his own mind that he had hardly realized that Molly had left the room for longer than 4 minutes. He kept thinking, ignoring her absence, none of it important at the moment. His mind was racing, and if written down a reader would be lost in the first sentence.

"Oh, you're here late."

If Sherlock was a normal person, he would have jumped at the unexpected voice, but he was well known for not being normal. He glanced towards the disruption.

"What time is it?" Sherlock asked, seeing a tall man in the doorway.

"11 pm." The man looked down at his watch as he said this

"Then I must be off." Sherlock grabbed the items from the table and disappeared from the morgue. The only thoughts in his head were of questions for John Watson and his strange date.

-Dishoom-

John couldn't help but stare at the name written on the building. Of course it had to be this restaurant that he had made reservations for earlier that week. John did not really enjoy Indian food, but his old date had. It took him a good while to make a reservation at this restaurant, too. He couldn't help but feel as if his day would not brighten in the least.

John glanced at the woman next to him. She gave an odd look at the sign as well. At that moment it was clear to John that he had brought a dangerous woman to a restaurant that she obviously would not enjoy.

"The Dishoom," Mary said as she looked at the building. "Interesting choice."

John chuckled awkwardly to himself, this was going to be perfect. Just perfect.

They entered and sat near a window seat. Nameless people walked back and forth; it appeared to be a very busy night. A flustered watrist who appeared who had dark skin and long black hair.

"Welcome, I am Abha and I will be your server today, what would you like to order?"

Mary smiled at Abha and took one glance at the menu before stating. "Namaskāra, ābhā. Āpakī aṅgrējī bahuta acchī hai. Maiṁ aba kē li'ē masālēdāra mēmanē cōpsa aura ēka pānī kē li'ē hōgā."

Abha and John stared at Mary. The new waiter was slightly flustered for a second and then relaxed a bit. A smile came to her face.

"Āpakī hindī bahuta acchī hai."

"Dhan'yavāda. Maiṁ satraha thā jaba taka maiṁ bhārata mēṁ rahatē thē. Mērē pitā vahām̐ kāma kiyā."

"Āpa ŏrḍara karanē kē li'ē kyā karanā cāhatē haiṁ."

John was distracted at the scene that taking place before him. It was an abnormal experience to find that his date knew Hindi and she spoke Hindi very well at that. He was so dumbfounded he couldn't help but stare at Mary and didn't notice that the server was talking to him.

" Unhōnnē kahā ki kēvala aṅgrējī bōlatā hai." Mary said to Abha.

Abha looked a little disappointed but ignored it for a quick moment. She smiled at John with a very fake smile.

"Your order?" Abha asked.

"Same," John said dropping his menu and looked at Mary again.

Abha took their menu's and disappeared into the kitchen. John started on, his eyes brows merging in the middle.

"Dr. Watson, hasn't anyone told you that staring is rude?" Mary asked taking a drink of water.

"You know Hindi," he said finally.

She lifted her shoulders and looked him in the eyes. A shy smile coming on her face as she let her shoulders fall.

"Yes I do, you should know that though. After all it is on the dating website."

John Watson couldn't help but debate on the words that he was about to say.

"Um, well I didn't setup the account, my flat mate did." If he was going down he might as well bring Sherlock down with him. Mary raised an eyebrow. John felt his throat go dry and drank some water. It became even harder to swallow and he waited for her to say anything. "He was the one who eventually set up the date."

She nodded and looked at him with a smile. "That's alright, my friend set up my dating account as a practical joke. I had never imagined that someone like yourself would be interested in dating a woman like me."

"Why would you say that?" John asked.

The dinner was served and Mary waited for a few seconds before looking back at him. There was a hidden twinge of sadness deep in her eyes.

" I am, Dr. Watson, very normal. I was raised on excitement, exciting things have happened to me, but I, myself, am very normal," Mary stated as she began eating.

"What types of exciting things?" John asked.

He had to seemed to forgotten that Sherlock Holmes had him go on a date with a supposed murderess. He had began to enjoy his date until he realized this matter. His attitude changed at that moment and the rest of the dinner was spent with nervous glances and a very confused Mary. The dinner was over within the hour and John was ready to go home. At the moment he could not help but hate Sherlock for making him meet this woman. He was about to get into the cab when Mary pulled his arm.

"John," she began. This was the first time ever saying his first name.

He hated how sweetly her voice lilted when she spoke. He turned to face her. A light smile played on her lips.

"I was wondering if we could walk for a little while?"

There was a moment where John felt fear creep into his stomach. She wanted to take a walk, which could easily mean she wanted to murder him. John swallowed nervously and decided if she really wanted to murder him that she could have done that any moment tonight. So he helplessly nodded and then with a cough he finally responded with, "Of course. It is a beautiful night after all."


	8. Chapter 8

Sherlock had came back to his flat at approximately 11:30 that night after an exceedingly dull cab ride. The cabbie had been of little importance. He tried to think of anything that would be helpful, but nothing came to mind and he soon accepted the idea that nothing would. The cab had stopped in front of 211 B Baker Street like it would on any normal day. He paid the cabbie and went into the building.

He had realized that he would be the only person home. John's date would most likely have ended poorly, being that John did not have the talent to act normally when he was presented with sensitive information. His believing that she was the murderess would have changed his opinion of her in heartbeat. Well, at least if he had not known that she was the murderess then the outing would have ended differently. Well, not much differently than any other date John had ever been on. The man had a hard time keeping any sort of relationship. It would be downright odd if John could keep a working relationship with this woman.

Of course Sherlock would not have been too pleased to find out that his musings over John and Mary many have been off. He had to admit that Mary was at least a bit more interesting than any other woman John had encountered, but then again maybe John was the true reason why he had not had a stable relationship. After a long while he decided it would be best if John had learned the truth at the end of the night. After all John was the type of man to hold a grudge over the most ridiculous ideas.

Sherlock got comfortable in his chair. Grabbing his violin he placed it under his chin. Very lightly he plucked the strings. He let his mind wander as his fingers played several symphonies from pure muscle memory. In fact his thoughts did not concern music whatsoever. It could be said that Sherlock had a dramatic flair, and therefore was content to let himself dwell on murder, love, and perhaps a little bit of inquiry as to whether John would be in such a mood as to make a scene when he got home. Soon he was deep in his mind, his own violin music far from his conscious thought.

It is hard to say if he heard John walking up the stairs to their side of the flat or not. Knowing so little of the man it was most likely a surprise to find that John had indeed entered the room. Then again Sherlock knew almost everything, and had only managed to miss small details here or there. Nothing of extreme importance, just odd ends that are unneeded or irrelevant details.

"Sod off on my love life next time, Sherlock." John said, taking off his coat.

"That bad, was it?" Sherlock set down the violin, an uncommon act of social courtesy on his part.

"I don't know how you do it. You might be able to manage being involved with a dangerous women, but that is not the life for me." John collapsed on a chair in a slight huff.

He ran his hands through his hair. It was obvious that the date had stressed him out considerably.

"Never again. I am not doing anything like that for you as long as I live."

"She is not a murderess, if that is what you are thinking." Sherlock stood up and made his way towards his room.

"Excuse me?! You said-"

"That the murder was a man. Why don't people just shut up and listen for a change? There must be something wrong with you recently. Maybe your little brains are making a poor attempt at working for once." Sherlock shut the bedroom door before a very frustrated John could even get a word out. He never had a chance.

Sherlock leaned against his door, waiting for a few seconds. He could hear John let out a curse and then his foot steps thundering down the stairs to the door. He'd hoped to stave off the boredom for a little longer with this confrontation, but was quite disappointed. Sherlock let out a sigh before stating his thoughts to himself. "Predictable."


	9. Chapter 9

Time passed. Days, weeks, months; it didn't matter. The buzz around the murder had finally begun to die down. The police turned to other things. Things that may have been important at the time, but have very little importance in the outcome of this story. At that moment, everyone in London had forgotten that there was a dead woman at St. James Park. Well, nearly everyone. After all, deaths were common in such a large city. If you had not heard of their death then you most likely did not live there in the first place.

John had nearly forgotten about the whole ordeal in an instant. Well, if one was to ask Sherlock. John hadn't even written what had happened in his one could not blame him, since he was not really involved in any of the matters pertaining to it. He was also too busy spending time with a certain interesting woman he had seen months before. Molly hadn't mentioned the murder in nearly a month, as she had other bodies to attend to. In fact it seemed as if Sherlock Holmes himself had let that information slip away from his memory. Of course, if you were to ask he would strongly disagree with this conclusion. He had kept the recorder in his room on a nightstand, letting the murder steep in the back of his mind.

However time had indeed passed, and the sounds of the recording became nothing more than a distant hum that had once echoed on Baker street. This would come to change, for nothing truly remains the same for the inhabitants of flat 221B.

Today was not a rare occurrence. The beginnings of fall had once again begun to set in. The air had a new crisp edge to it and a light chill had settled on London. The promises of winter were not far off.

Whatever the weather outside, it was cozy in Baker street. Sherlock was busy cutting up a heart that he had "borrowed" from Molly's lab. He'd managed to take it without her adding any preservatives. He place a car battery on the side of the table. He grabbed the wires and began to connect them to the heart. He was ready to connect the other ends to the battery, but someone stopped him.

"What on Earth are you doing?" A voice inquired behind him.

"An experiment, John," Sherlock stated what he felt was the obvious.

John walked in the room and glanced down at the heart. His eyes then surveyed the kitchen. It was a disaster. Cups, plates, and body parts of all sorts were strewn about the room. Sherlock continued placing the wires.

"You forgot." John stated simply.

Sherlock stopped himself and looked at John. His eyes squinted and he was on the verge of a glare.

"Excuse me?"

John stared at his flat mate. There was the slightest look of his disappointment hidden in the depth of his eyes.

"You forgot. Now you have to clean up the entire flat within two hours."

"Forgot what John?" Sherlock asked, a little bit of annoyance could be heard in his voice.

"You are meeting Mary tonight." John stated, taking a whiff of the room," Strange I can't smell formaldehyde, methanol or ethanol."

"Of course not, this heart hasn't been tampered with in the slightest." Sherlock paused. "Don't tell me you're still planning on us meeting."

"Sherlock, you're going to meet her," John stated.

"Why would you want me to meet her? You know too well that I pick apart every one of your dates. It wouldn't make sense to bring her..." he stopped. His eyes widen in disbelief. "Oh."

"What?" John asked, suddenly uneasy. Sherlock had finally began to consider what John had become quite about.

"You can't be serious John," Sherlock stood up and left the kitchen.

John followed him, unsure where he was going. Sherlock seemed furious about something John had done.

"What do you mean?" John called after Sherlock as he made his way down the stairs.

Sherlock grabbed his coat and wrapped his scarf around his neck.

"You can't be seriously be thinking about getting married," he snapped.

"Oh, and why not?"

"It is not logical. Only simple minded people would even dream about getting married. It is a waste of time and is purely emotional," he turned and stepped outside.

"Where do you think you're going!?" John opened the door and tried to catch up.

"Bart's." Sherlock was tempted to call a cab, but then decided against it. He took off down the sidewalk.

John entered back into the building. He was furious. Mrs. Hudson was walked out of her side of the flat, her eyes wide and a smile on her face.

"Not following Sherlock today?" Mrs. Hudson asked and then stared at the door. "It is rather strange."

"Not strange. He is just acting like the child he is." John stomped up to the flat.

He slammed the door shut causing it to echo through the house. just stood there for a moment. Then after an awkward stretch of silence she decided it was best to go back into her flat. After all there had to be something decent on the telly. Maybe a rerun of Doctor Who.

.


	10. Chapter 10

Sherlock settled himself down at the lab table. He needed to take his mind off his flatmate. The idea of John getting married had never really entered Sherlock's mind. He was opposed to the entire idea, of course. Too many emotions to deal with. He hadn't the time nor patience for any of it. He let his mind wander a little, as he originally had come here for some peace and quiet. The sound of shoes against the marble floor made him quickly discard that notion.

"Sherlock, you stole my heart!" Molly Hooper angrily burst into the room.

Sherlock only had to glance at Molly for her to turn beet red, the alternative meaning of her statement dawning on her. Sherlock's eyes widened only slightly as he glanced back at his work.

"I borrowed Mr. Henderson's heart, Molly. You can't say that it is your heart, being that it is the property of Mr. Henderson. These are simple facts."

"You didn't even ask me. I can't hide something like that," Molly Hooper whispered. "I wasn't even done with the paperwork. One of the doctors snapped at me because it went missing, claiming it was some sort of joke that I wanted to play on the staff."

"Quiet."

Molly soon quieted herself and began to work around Sherlock. Her mind left what Sherlock had been doing and moved toward her social life. Clare had plans with Molly that night. They were going to watch movies and gawk over celebrities. Molly of course accepted, having no regrets of doing so. Ah, the joys of being completely single. Well, at least that was what she told herself to stave off being a complete mess.

After she was done with her work she glanced back at Sherlock. He was studying the table top intently as if it held the answers to life. For the first time it seemed to Molly that he had nothing on his mind. She knew otherwise, but she noticed that he was far from being at peace. He seemed nearly tormented.

"Where is John?" She asked.

"Molly, don't try to make small talk. It's annoying."

Molly stared at him for a while. It was extremely clear that something was definitely wrong. Part of her wanted to give him a hug, but decided against what would undoubtedly be the most awkward moment of her life. He was, after all, a stereotypical Brit. He did not display emotion. Then again it was rumored that he had Asperger's syndrome and had the mind and temperament of a sociopath. It was then she stumbled upon just what he needed. Molly quietly smiled to herself and left the room, leaving Sherlock to his thoughts.

These thoughts constantly wandered towards the idea of John being emotionally involved with a woman. However, spending his valuable time on this subject would not help him in any way. He managed to divert these notions and pull out the recorder, again letting it play in the morgue.

"Oh, do you have to play that horrid thing?" Molly asked as she made her way back inside the room. She had a coffee in one hand and a bag holding a liver in the other. He had been eyeing that liver for the past few days. It was rare that he didn't take it, but then again he would have imagined that something like this would be easy to obtain. She set the coffee and the bag next to him.

"Did you and John get in a row?" Molly asked, looking into his face, "You always act so strange when you two have a fight."

"It's his fault," Sherlock stated taking a drink of the coffee.

"Why is that?" She asked sweetly.

"I don't want to talk about it, Molly."

She nodded and decided that she had become too bold for her own liking. She managed to scurry away into a corner of the room and began to finish what work she had left for that day. He left the recording to play until his ringing phone interrupted it. He glanced down and quickly answered. It was Lestrade.

Sherlock jumped up and grabbed his coat.

"Molly, come with me," Sherlock rushed out of the room. Her stammering protests were quickly silenced with, "Molly, I know that you are well finished with your work. You've been finished for the past few hours. Your shift ended a few moments after you burst in here saying that I had borrowed Mr. Henderson's heart." He steered her by the crook of her arm.

"How did you know that?" she asked walking quickly to keep up with his long strides.

"Simple, you are not wearing your lab coat."

"Why do you need me, though? Don't you normally go with John?"

"John is too busy being a fool at the moment and so it is either you or Anderson. He is enough of a hassle as it is."

She followed him and it was clear that John must have done something truly upsetting in order for Sherlock to be acting this way. She remained silent throughout the cab ride. The cabbie driver ended up talking quite a lot, trying to fill the silence. She responded a few times, but this has very little importance to our narrative.

It was when they arrived at Whatman park that Molly finally understood what was going on. She was at a crime scene with Mr. Sherlock Holmes. It was more than she could take in, but she tried her best to hide it. This was the practical reason why he had not taken her to a crime scene before. She was getting even more excited then himself. She walked quickly next to him, looking around at the yellow police tape.

"Holmes," Greg nodded as he walked up and glanced at Sherlock's side in surprise, "Molly! why are you here?" She turned a deep shade of red and swallowed as she desperately tried to answer the same question.

"She's helping me today," Sherlock stated this as officially as though she had been assigned to him and made his way to the body.

Greg held himself back from asking more questions as he and Molly Hooper followed Sherlock. Molly could hear the whispers from a few yards off, no doubt a similar murder.

"A miss Mary Morstan ended up coming across the body half an hour ago. She was making her way to a date." Sherlock stopped in his tracks.

"You can't be serious."

Molly Hooper let out an awkward giggle behind them, finally putting the pieces together. Sherlock glared back at her and resumed his trek to the body. Greg, being completely lost, watched with a blank expression and realized that Sherlock had not answered any of his questions.

Molly tried to keep up with Sherlock's speed, her hair bouncing up and down as she ran. Her heart raced a little inside, and not just from unexpected was her first case, the closest that she would ever be to an adventure. Well, at least that was what she thought.

The whispers filled the air. In the distance, Mary stood next to a glass casket holding a woman with blond hair and a long blue gown. Her hand clasped small bunch of flowers: bleeding hearts. Her face was artfully painted and she remained flawless.

"Mr. Holmes, I wasn't supposed to see you until later on tonight," Mary said, looking at the body.

"My thoughts precisely," Sherlock muttered, "Dr. Hooper, help me remove this." She moved to the other side of the casket, grasping and lifting the lid. They settled it lightly on the grass.

"Won't that destroy the fingerprints?" Mary asked as he set it down.

"Ms. Morstan, the man doesn't leave fingerprints." Sherlock went straight to work and Mary eyed Molly for a while. Molly looked over the body for a while, noting intriguing things, but she wouldn't have her opinion voiced until she was back at Barts. After a while her gaze fixed itself on Sherlock as he worked. He, on the other hand, was far too busy to notice her eyes on him. Mary, being an observant woman, immediately saw that Molly had been staring a little longer than what was considered normal. It was very clear that Molly happened to be that doctor that John had told her about. The doctor who happened to have certain feelings for a mister Sherlock Holmes. At that very moment, she decided that they needed to become close friends. She began the process instantly by saving Molly the embarrassment of being caught staring.

"Come on, dear. We have more important things to do than wait." Mary stated as she pulled Molly away from the dead woman.

Molly found herself taken to another part of the park. Mary could only smile at her, which seemed quite odd. After a few moments of silence, Mary began to talk.

"So, you're Molly Hooper. John has told me quite a bit about you."

"Oh really?" Molly Hooper stated, surprised that anyone at all would mention her in a normal conversation. "I never thought..."

Mary stopped for a moment and pointed to a homeless woman who was standing at a far corner of the park. She was older looking and had a long shawl that scraped the ground.

"Do you see what I see?" Mary asked, her eyes never leaving the strange woman.

"Mary, it's not polite to point," Molly quietly admonished, trying to avoid gazing at the woman in question.

"She's hiding something." Mary began to walk back to the dead body.

"What are you doing?"

"Going to ask the genius what he thinks."

They arrived only to find they were too late. Sherlock was already gone. Molly sighed helplessly and began to make her way to the road.

"Where are you going?"

"Home to watch some horrible telly."

"I have a better idea," Mary stated, "You could come and have dinner with John and myself."

"No, I really don't want to bother anyone," Molly said looking around, only to see that the cabs ignored her very existence.

"Oh, you wouldn't bother anyone. I have been hoping that you would come with me to 221 B Baker street." Mary paused for a while, seeing that Molly was trying hard to hail a cab. "Please come with me. I would enjoy my time there if you came along."

Molly looked at Mary for a moment. A smile came to her face, lighting up her features.

"If you really don't mind, then I guess I will come along."


End file.
